


Blood on the Carpet, Gold in Her Eyes

by Lt_Cmdr_Scribbler



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Angst, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, I'm Sorry, Oops, Romance, inspired by a tumblr post, no i'm not, sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-16
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-08-15 08:42:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8049715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lt_Cmdr_Scribbler/pseuds/Lt_Cmdr_Scribbler
Summary: Junior Healer Andolyana Gyleth is very upset that her favourite rug, an antique, was stained. Do you know how hard it is to get Zabrak blood out of one-hundred-year-old fibers from Mirial?Cipher Fourteen doesn't really care that she almost bled out on a Jedi's carpet. She's a little busy over-analysing the fact that this Jedi is really quite cute.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt was "I would really appreciate it if you didn’t drip blood all over my carpet: it’s an antique.” Over the last few months, this is what happened. like the tags say: "oops"

Andolyana stepped through the door of her apartment, (criminally small, but that was what a newly-minted Jedi Healer’s salary got her,) and instantly felt something wrong. In the few months that Dollie had lived in the tiny Coruscant City skyscraper, she had listened to all the noises it made, and knew each of them by heart. Tonight, the floorboards creaked as though additional weight was pressed upon them. That was _definitely_ not a good thing. Reaching out gently, tentatively, with the Force; Dollie found something that made her eyes widen with shock: a life form, female, _in her apartment_. The glow was faint, and for some reason, lying horizontally on her rug, but definitely present.

Taking a deep breath and laying one cautious hand on her lightsaber, Dollie stepped around the corner of her front entrance into what she jokingly called the “sitting room,” since it contained the only comfortable armchair in the apartment. Sure enough, there was a humanoid woman lying on her floor, but the details that Dollie now saw made this situation a lot more complicated.

The woman lying on her floor was Zabrak, with crimson red skin and clad in a grey Imperial Officer’s uniform, the fabric of which was slowly staining red with blood. The Woman’s wine-red hair was short and spiked, except for where it was severely tied into pigtails on either side of her head. Short, stubby horns ran along the edge of her hair line, and the dark geometric tattoos that shadowed the contours of her skin gave her round face a pinched look. As Dollie stepped nearer, the Woman’s eyes blinked open slowly, revealing irises of molten gold.

Dollie placed her hands on her hips, and glanced over the woman once again. “I would really have liked it if you hadn’t dripped blood all over my carpet. It’s a Miralian antique, you know.”

The Woman smiled, though it looked more like a grimace. “I’m sorry that my agonising pain inconveniences you, Jedi,” she rasped. She tried to continue speaking, but her eyes rolled in her head, and she lost consciousness.

Immediately, Andolyana dragged her uninvited guest into her minuscule kitchen, careful not to jostle the wound too much. The Force apparently did not have an answer as to why there was an Imperial operative bleeding out in her apartment, but Dollie knew enough that letting the agent die would be both irresponsible and potentially devastating, politically.

Dollie ran a towel under the faucet, then wrung out the majority of the water, leaving the cloth damp. She then swallowed nervously, and took a deep breath before unbuttoning the agent’s coat. Thankfully, she was wearing a black tank top under her uniform. Dollie quickly pressed the wet towel to the agent’s abdomen, ignoring the green flush that she knew was creeping up her neck. The cute agent was unconscious anyway, so it wasn’t like she would notice. Unfortunately, the cold damp of the towel made the Woman’s muscles twitch, and Andolyana had barely a second of warning before the agent’s eyes shot open and she sat up, hands going for the knives at her belt.

Immediately, Dollie pressed the woman back down on her counter, wrapping her with the Force like so many layers of fabric. The Woman’s pupils were dilated and cat-like, but her breath soon grew steadier, and her chest heaved less and less with each inhale. As the Woman calmed, Dollie carefully wiped away most of the blood and returned to keeping pressure on the wound.

The Woman glanced around the small room, and scanned Dollie as much as she could in her position. She cleared her throat, and asked hoarsely, “Where am I?”

“You, Imperial, are in my apartment. I certainly don’t know why or even how you are here, so sure I hope that you do. First things first, though; what’s your name?”

The Imperial agent grinned, though it looked more like a grimace. “Cipher 14. It's a pleasure. And yours, my fine Jedi friend?”

Andolyana could feel the blush climbing up her neck, and could feel the faint satisfaction emanating from Cipher 14 through the Force. She closed her eyes to shield against the blush, and took a deep breath. “Healer Kurane,” she lied curtly, applying more pressure to the wound in vindictive and hidden retaliation for the tease.

Fourteen huffed out a laugh that hid a wince of pain. “That was obviously a lie, but I guess I deserve that,” she admitted. “Sorry, Kurane, but you don’t get to know my name. Military secrets and all that.”

“And I guess “military secrets” are why you can’t tell me what you were doing that lead to this mess?” Dollie replied, gesturing to Fourteen’s midsection.

“You catch on quickly,” remarked Fourteen wryly. “So what are you going to do with me? It's the first time I've been captured by a Jedi.”

Even though the question was asked in a teasing way, Andolyana’s answer was serious. “That depends on your mission and how much harm you're doing to the Republic. If you’re relatively harmless, then I keep you here and then send you on your way when you recover.”

“Really?” The soft exclamation made Dollie look up at Fourteen’s face. Her bright molten gold eyes were wider than before, apparently awed by Dollie’s answer. “You aren't going to send me to be interrogated by your Jedi Council? Or your Supreme Chancellor? You do realise that my being here is practically a violation of the Treaty, right?”

Looking at Fourteen with a blank expression, Andolyana replied, “No…? If you aren’t doing any harm, then there’s no need to cause a panic. Ergo, I don’t need to tell the masters about you laying low in my apartment. You don't get set to prison, the council doesn't worry themselves sick about something that probably doesn't meant anything, and I don't get chastised for leaving my apartment unsecured. Nobody gets in trouble my way.”

Fourteen stared at her for a while, before her lips twitched and she relaxed on the counter. “How morally ambiguous of you,” she murmured as she drifted off, apparently content to let Dollie carry on mopping up blood.

Rolling her eyes, Andolyana kept the pressure on the wound with the Force as she got a bandage and disinfectant from her medicine cupboard. The stab was mostly a flesh wound, but Fourteen was lucky that one of her organs wasn't punctured. Recuperation would take a few weeks, maybe less if Dollie could use a little bit of Force every day after work to speed the process up. Doubtful, seeing as how Dollie was usually exhausted when she got home from her usual shift at the Senate Tower Hospital, but not impossible. It simply depended on how much effort that she put into the well-being of Cipher Fourteen.

As Andolyana wrapped the bandages around the unconscious agent’s abdomen, she berated herself. Why in Force’s name had she made that promise? Sure, she was a healer; true, part of her Jedi Healer oath was to care for the injured, but she was pretty sure that this particular situation was not covered by the oath. An Imperial operative, _an enemy spy,_ was laying unconscious on her kitchen counter.

_A pretty-looking enemy spy._

_Shut up._ After replacing the bandages and washing her hands, Andolyana sat in her one good armchair and held her head in her hands. _I'm in trouble. Big trouble._

_You're only in trouble if you get caught._

_Is that you, Force?_

Dollie laughed at herself. Talking to herself always ended like this, sarcastic and mischievous in a way that wasn't quite Dark, but not entirely Light either. A sure sign that she needed some sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or, the one in whichever I realise that I made Andolyana/Fourteen incredibly similar to Bashir/Garak from Deep Space Nine, and now continue to draw blatant parallels with no shame.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fourteen is calling Dollie "Kurane" because that's the name that Dollie used last chapter, and Fourteen doesn't really care, because "what's in a name?"

The golden eyes of Cipher Fourteen snapped open, and her adrenaline stood her up and off the cushioned floor she had been laying on in an instant. The apartment was dark, with no sign that Healer Kurane had been in the sitting room since she went to bed last night. Fourteen stood amidst a haphazard pile of pillows that been thrown together at some point, and under one of them was a smudge of burgundy, a colour Fourteen had seen often enough to recognise as her own blood.

“Guess I really did get blood on her carpet,” Fourteen murmured to herself absently.

“I hope you know how to get it out, because nothing I have tried has worked,” said a disembodied voice that made Fourteen glare around the room. Fourteen’s hand strayed toward her belt, but the tell-tale weight missing from her waist told her that her knives weren't within her reach. When Fourteen’s gaze landed on the armchair, she was startled to see Kurane sitting there, when Fourteen could've sworn that she hadn't been there several seconds ago.

The small Mirialian Jedi smirked, creasing the scar on her cheek and giving her bright red irises a glint of amusement. A large mug was cradled in her hands, empty but for the last few dregs of some pitiful blend of caff, which was probably the only reason that Kurane found anything amusing this early in the morning. Fourteen was struck by the thought that, if Kurane’s robes were different and they were in the Citadel rather than a cramped apartment, Kurane would fit the image of a Sith rather well.

All of a sudden, Kurane’s gaze darkened, and she stood up, stalking into the kitchen with the air of a seriously offended dignitary. Fourteen scrunched her eyebrows, but in doing so she realised that her mouth was open. Chances were that she'd said that thought aloud. _Great job, P,_ she berated herself. _Telling the Jedi that they'd make a pretty good Sith will_ definitely _get her to like you._

The sound of Kurane washing out the mug was the only sound in the apartment, and the strained silence was something that neither of them were comfortable with. _Step one, return the atmosphere to one better suited to negotiating,_ Fourteen told herself, and she hesitantly took a step forward. Her ribs protested, and her muscles felt like stale chewy candy, but she counted it as a success. Gingerly, she made her way to the kitchen doorway, and leaned against it with what she hoped looked like nonchalance.

“I’m sorry,” she offered. “As you can probably imagine, my brain-to-mouth filter is rather non-existent right about now. On another hand, you can view it as a compliment, if you like. I’m an Imperial. Sith are supposed to be beings of ultimate power and objects of admiration. Though most of them are pompous windbags,” Fourteen conceded, “But now I’ve gotten off track. See? No filter.”

To the agent’s surprise, Kurane made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a choked laugh. “I know. I've had enough patients with concussions to know that pain is very good at screwing up basic brain function.”

 _Progress._ “So you’re a healer, then.”

Kurane looked at her with disbelief. “I told you that yesterday. Is your brain really that damaged, or are you just a really bad spy?”

 _Nevermind, then_. “A mix of both?” Fourteen shrugged. “I used to be a gardener.”

Kurane’s lips twitched. “That so?” Her tone made her disbelief obvious, but what use was a cover story if you didn’t run with it?

“Absolutely,” agreed Fourteen eagerly. This cover story was her _favourite_ , mostly because it was nearly true. “On Makeb, I was employed by a minor politician… what was his name…” Fourteen snapped her fingers, impatiently. “Shalla? Sheila?”

“Shalim Avesta?” Kurane suggested.

“Yes, him. His garden was beautiful, and I only state the facts when I tell you that most of it was by my hand. The orchids were my favourites, but they happened to be right in the path of his niece when she was twelve. The girl was a terror, but she was very invested in the daffodils she helped to plant, so she wasn't entirely helpless.”

Kurane stared at Fourteen for several silent seconds. “Are you telling me that you were the gardener that inspired Doctor Avesta to go into geophysics?”

“Is that what she did after I left?” Fourteen asked, arching her eyebrow slightly. “I really didn't follow the activities of the Avestas after I left. My living situation after that was… rather precarious."

“Am I supposed to believe you were a harmless gardener? That your motives for whatever got you shanked in the kidney were completely pure?” Kurane was as frustrated as Jedi allowed themselves to be, with her brow furrowed and her knuckles growing pale around the handle of her clay mug.

Fourteen smiled, long and slow. Despite the aches, she felt _great_. “Oh, those are two different questions, my dear Jedi. Why would I lie to you about what happened in the past? It has nothing to do with the unpleasantness that lead to the present.”

Kurane frowned, the upset gesture pulling at her tattoos slightly. “I have no way to disprove that, unfortunately, but if I stay here and argue with you any longer, I'm going to be late to work.”

She picked up her travel cloak and her speeder access chip, then sighed. “There's some bread on top of the fridge unit, and some Nubian berry preserve inside the unit. I keep the insta-caf in the cupboard above the stove, but the tea is pre-packaged and on the shelve above the caf. Don't break or stain anything else, and I might get you some clean clothes at the market today.”

Stars, this was so very domestic, Fourteen could practically feel herself growing a cavity in her teeth. “Understood, Jedi. Have a good day at work.”

Kurane stood there a little longer, with a supremely odd expression on her face, before she bolted for the door.


	3. Chapter 3

Fourteen and the Jedi sunk into a rhythm and a system with such ease that both of them were rather frightened of it. It likely wasn't normal for a Jedi to go to sleep thinking, _Goodnight, Imperial spy, you'll most likely kill me in the morning._ Fourteen had certainly never heard of a Cipher who spent a week on a Jedi’s couch thinking, _Goodnight, Jedi, I’ll most likely have to kill you in the morning._

Fourteen checked her comm unit every day for new orders, but after each night laying wide awake on Kurane’s couch, her call register was empty. She moved on to experimenting with the chemicals that Kurane kept under her sink, which only lead to a cloying chemical smell and still no way to safely remove her own dried blood from Kurane’s carpet. Eventually, the boredom reached levels of near-lethality, and Fourteen chanced leaving the apartment.

Dressed in a grey sweater that Kurane bought her after that first day and navy blue flannel pants, Fourteen stepped out of the apartment, under the pretense of looking for a working comm unit, because her own was “broken.” The hallways, which looked wider than they had on the scant few hours that Fourteen had originally cased the building, were wallpapered with an almost sickening blue-green floral pattern, and possessed wood floors that, while lacking splinter-prone boards and _looking_ sturdy, creaked with every step.

After the fifth ear-splitting creak of old wood, one of the doors on Fourteen’s right opened up. An old Human woman poked her head out of her door, and her brown eyes lit up. “You must be new to the building, love,” she said. “Everyone has been here for years, and they've already learned where the truly creaky floorboards are. Come in, come in.”

Fourteen blinked a few times, and self-consciously reached up to her face- _covered in dark tattoos, Zabrak don’t look like me in the Republic, all red skin and bloodshot eyes_ -before the woman tutted at her.

“Don’t worry about that, love. I don’t know where you came from, so it isn’t my place to judge what you look like. Come in.”

“Thank you so much,” replied Fourteen, her clipped and comfortable Imperial accent replaced by a smooth and practiced Republic one.

The old woman’s sitting room was more spacious than Kurane’s, and she owned three armchairs is different colours of velvet fabric. Fourteen made for the green one, and ran her bare fingertips over the fine velvet fabric. Sometimes, when she was out in the field for too long, she forgot what luxury _was_. A chuckle from the old woman made Fourteen’s head snap up, and she felt the blood rushing up to her cheeks as she realised that she must look like a child fawning over her grandmother’s beautiful antiques. Thankfully, Fourteen could play the shy knowledgeable young woman with ease.

The woman eased herself into a blue armchair, and her smile seemed almost _too_ knowing for Fourteen’s taste. “How are you liking the building so far?”

 _Seeing as how I’ve only seen two rooms so far, I can hardly say_ , Fourteen thought, but replied aloud, “I haven’t been here long, so I can’t really say. I only know you and the… person I’m stay with.”

“Congratulations on that, by the way,” remarked the woman. “Poor girl has been working herself to death lately, and I’m glad you convinced her to let you stay. I always said that Jedi need an anchor in her life. She can be a bit of a cloudhead, sometimes.”

 _Does she think… Oh, this is too good. I can_ use _this._ “You don’t find it weird?” she asked. “That I’m in a relationship with a Jedi, of all people?”

“Who said all relationships had to be the same?” the woman countered. “The Twi’lek and Devaronian down the hall are always fighting and making up again, but there’s still a building-wide betting pool going on as to when they’ll finally get engaged.”

Fourteen arched her eyebrows. “A Jedi is so much more different than a Devaronian.”

The woman shook her head with amusement. “When you’ve seen Andolyana stumble home wearing smeared medical robes and smelling like a Rodian’s vomit as many times as I have, Jedi don’t seem so mystical anymore.”

She could’ve choked on air. _That_ , needless to say, was such a different opinion that Fourteen felt the urge to check the woman for dementia. Dismissing a Force-user, of any persuasion, could get you _killed_.

 _In the Empire, perhaps,_ she reminded herself, _This is the Republic, remember, land of glittering equality where the only real rulers are credits._

Quickly, Fourteen re-focused. _Andolyana, huh?_ “I’m only just starting to get used to Dollie’s hours,” she said with a laugh. The diminutive fell almost too easily from her lips, but Fourteen kept her relaxed facade up. _Treat it like a mission and you’ll do just fine._

On the other hand, the old woman’s face lit up. “You both are so sweet,” she gushed. “Can I offer you some tea?”

“Tea would be lovely.”

* * *

 When Andolyana returned home that night, she found Fourteen reading a book- a literal, flimsi-bound-in-leather book. It startled Andolyana, how much Fourteen looked at home sitting in her armchair, wearing simple clothes that she bought for her. The way Fourteen had easily inserted herself into Andolyana’s life was equal parts distressing and pleasantly surprising.

Fourteen’s gold eyes flickered up to look at Andolyana as she entered the apartment. “I’ve learned several things today, my dear,” she announced, gently closing the book and laying it on the armrest of the chair. “Firstly, the walls in this building are terribly thin. Secondly, the old woman two doors down, Ms. Jeffords, is quite lovely, and she made us a plate of cookies that I left in the kitchen.”

Andolyana brushed the casual endearment aside, an action which had been getting easier and easier all week. No use getting excited about something that meant nothing. “Did she loan you that book, too?”

“She did. She is also now under the impression that we are in a committed relationship, so you’ll need to start calling me something other than 'Fourteen'.”

Trying not to choke on air, Andolyana turned swiftly to face Fourteen. “What?”

The agent’s lips quirked upward slightly in faint amusement. “She mistook our living situation for something much more… _domestic,_ let’s say. She happened to drop your _real_ name during conversation, so don’t expect me to call you ‘Kurane’ anymore, Dollie.”

“ _Dollie_?”

Fourteen arched an eyebrow. “Do you not like it, love?”

Andolyana sat down and held her head in her hands. _There's a very pretty Imperial in my apartment, with whom I'm apparently now involved with in a fake relationship, using pretty endearments in her pretty accent to drive me up the wall._

She rested her head between her knees. “I… need a minute.”

“Take all the time you need,” was Fourteen’s breezy reply, and peripherally Andolyana could hear her stand up and move to the kitchen, putting a semblance of a barrier between them.

Andolyana tried to take a deep breath, and in her mind she pictured a numerical list, written in crisp, clean print. Things I Need To Address with the Agent in my Apartment.

Number One: “I am a Jedi, and ‘Fake Relationship’ was _not_ a situation covered in the Trials.”

Number Two: “I hardly know a thing about you, and also you're an _Imperial spy_.”

She couldn’t think of a third issue quite yet, but one was sure to rise up from somewhere any minute now. Dollie stood up and leaned against the doorway to the kitchen, rubbing her forehead with one hand. She sensed Fourteen look up from the tea that she was brewing.

_I’m going to regret this later, aren’t I?_

_Abso-fucking-lutely._

“What do I call you then, agent?”

Andolyana could almost feel the agent’s smile in her voice. “Parrian, my dear. Feel free to make up a surname for me. Or I could take yours, if you’d like.”

_Yep, already regretting this._


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *queue shopping montage*

Though the Coruscant wind ripped ruthlessly through the uninsulated stealth suit, Cipher Seven’s hands did not shake as they activated their comm. “Cipher to _Phantom_. Computer, route my call to Keeper’s office on Dromund Kaas.”

The comm buzzed with static for several minutes, before the hazy figure of Keeper appeared above the comm unit. “What is it, Seven?”

There was no time to apologise for the time difference. “I've made visual contact with Fourteen.”

The distance distorted Keeper’s facial expression and tone, but Seven assumed he was pleased. Fourteen was crucial, and they'd lost two weeks of time searching for her.

“Prepare Fourteen for extraction, Seven. The delay has advanced this mission to critical status. Keeper out.”

 

* * *

 

Fourteen- _Parrian_ , Andolyana reminded herself, -hissed as she unwound the bandages from the agent’s midsection and exposed the wound to oxygen. The terse line of black stitches made the angry red flesh of the stab wound stand out against Parrian’s scarlet skin. She was almost healed, thankfully, but since Andolyana couldn't take pains meds from the hospital without getting caught, she wanted to wait until Parrian didn't hiss in pain at every sudden movement to consider the agent “discharged”.

“You still won't tell me what did this?” Dollie asked, frowning at her… patient.

“I believe the weapon would be classified as a shiv,” retorted Parrian as she held her gaze steadily at the water damage on the ceiling.

Dollie raised a skeptical eyebrow in disbelief. “This isn't the Black Sun territory, Parrian, and this is too clean to be an injury via shiv. You'll need a more plausible answer than that.”

On the edge of the kitchen counter, the agent’s knuckles began to turn pale pink as she clenched her fingers against the hard stone. “I thought you were a doctor, Doll,” Parrian sighed, her smooth Republic accent taking the place of her biting Imperial one.

“I'm a Jedi, not a doctor.”

“Lucky, lucky me,” she muttered.

Andolyana disregarded her patient’s grumbling by gathering up the bloodied bandages and tossing them in the trash can. She took a deep breath before starting to unroll a fresh roll of gauze. She had always found talking easier when there was something to do with her hands. “There’s a… party, you could say, at work. It’s nothing fancy, just the healers, doctors, and maybe a few politicians. It’s mandatory for me, but I think you could use an opportunity to stretch your legs.”

Parrian’s eyes fluttered closed, and then her abdomen began to shake. “You-” she laughed, “You are so bad at asking people out on dates, aren't you?”

Dollie held her head up high and tried to ignore the emerald flush that darkened her face. “It's not a date,” she insisted, though she knew that it was useless. “Think of it as part of your recovery-”

“Oh, you can think of it as that, certainly, if it helps ease your Jedi conscious,” interjected Parrian with a grin, “But I shall certainly enjoy a lovely outing with my dear doctor.”

“I'm not _your_ anything,” Andolyana retorted with a glare, and tightened the bandage to punctuate her statement.

“I'm your patient, therefore you're my doctor,” she said, carefully.

“You know what I meant.”

Parrian's face didn't fall, not exactly, but something about her lips tightened and her eyes lacked any humorous expression. “Yes, I suppose I did.”

Immediately after, however, yet another mask slid perfectly onto the agent’s face, and her voice returned to its usual volume. “In any case, I will go with you. Is there any particular dress code required?”

Andolyana frowned slightly, and ducked quickly into the front room. After a few moments of shuffling through the pockets of her Healer robes, she called out: “The card says “semi-formal”. That's… going to be an issue, isn't it?”

From the kitchen, she heard Parrian sigh and mutter something inaudible under her breath. “I'll have to leave this apartment before the party if we are both going to be properly dressed, dear.” Her voice sounded bored, but something- perhaps the Force, perhaps too much time spent with an Imperial Agent, -told her that Parrian's was secretly excited for this.

“I have a day off tomorrow,” Dollie offered, walking back into the kitchen and began to tape the flimsi to the wall. “We can go shopping then.”

Parrian eased herself off of the counter, and took a few shaky steps forward. “Good. But I get to pick the shop. I'm not sure I can trust you with your own fashion choices.”

Dollie recognised the remark for what is was: a truce. Parrian backed off from her intimate tone, and instead teased her like a friend. While Dollie didn't have much experience with ‘friends’ either, it was certainly easier than ‘lovers’.

Thankfully, banter was nearly universal, and Andolyana was excellent at banter. “Says the woman who would be wearing a uniform every day under different circumstances.”

Parrian’s gold eyes laughed at her. “Bold words coming from a woman who owns six sets of the same robes.”

Andolyana scoffed, but smiled as she grabbed the tea kettle from the sink. “I change out of my robes immediately when I get home, whereas I can imagine _you_ wearing your uniform while asleep, just because you never remembered to take it off.”

“My work is never done, my fine Jedi friend.” Parrian's voice was jovial, but the faint smile on her lips turned down slightly, and she turned to lean her back against the wall.

Dollie carefully laid her hand on Parrian’s shoulder. “It is for tonight,” she insisted. “Get some rest, alright?”

Parrian smiled widely, not exactly at Dollie, but at the ground. She gently pushed herself off the wall, and took the few steps toward the sitting room. As a parting jest, Parrian playfully called behind her, “As you wish.”

Andolyana laughed, not at the parting quip so much as she laughed at the fluid, mercurial disposition of her Agent. Parrian- and Dollie assumed that ‘Parrian’ was the agent's real name, if only because she actually smiled whenever Dollie used it, -could slide from charming to analytical, from sweet to scathing, from distant to suffocating, in mere minutes. Rationally, it was likely the product of so many years changing from role to role, mission to mission, but Andolyana thought of it as something that made Parrian who she was.

 _Enough of that, you sap,_ she told herself. _Go to bed. You don’t want to fall asleep and let an Imperial Spy loose on Coruscant, do you?_

* * *

The next morning, Andolyana was most definitely regretting making this decision. She hadn’t even known that this section of the Senate Bazaar had _existed_ until this morning, and did it have to be so needlessly big?

The only upside of this trip so far had been Parrian. Her bright eyes flickered to each and every corner of the place, alight with _variety_ and _colour._ Dollie could safely say that now she knew exactly what a truly happy Imperial agent looked like, and it was worth the ache in her wrist from Parrian latching on to her and dragging her from one boutique to the next. When interacting with employees, Parrian was the perfect upper crust Coruscantian, but she couldn’t hide her little side glances and tiny smiles from Dollie.

Parrian had wasted no time at all finding a dress for herself: a black knee length costume with a lacy halter and no sleeves. While showing off the wiry strength of her arms, the lace also contrasted with her sharp facial tattoos. With matching black pumps, Parrian pressed the height advantage she had and almost towered over Andolyana.

Stepping out of the dressing room, Parrian did a little twirl. “What do you think?”

Dollie found that all of a sudden, her mouth was dry. Clearing her throat, she said, “It, um, you- you look great, actually.”

“Ever the tone of surprise,” Parrian quipped, grinning. When she reappeared from the dressing room, shopping bags dangling from her arm, she linked her elbow with Dollie’s. “Now, we have to look for something for you, my dear.”

Dollie grimaced, but let herself be lead deeper into the shop. She didn't have high hopes, and she didn't relish the moment when Parrian would similarly lose hope. Jedi robes were one thing; cocktail dresses were quite another.

Parrian seemed to pick dresses at random, held them up to Andolyana's diminutive frame, and then immediately rejected them for one reason or another: wrong colour, unflattering style, unacceptable size. Around the twelfth dress, Parrian vanished into the racks for several minutes, before resurfacing with- oh no.

“I'm not wearing anything red,” insisted Andolyana.

Parrian, however, would not be budged. “Andolyana Gyleth. Who here has infiltrated more galas, you or me?”

“Seeing as I've never even infiltrated one, I'm guessing it's you.”

“Exactly, Doll. Trust me, it'll be this one."

With a heavy sigh, Andolyana took the hanger from Parrian and retreated into the dressing room.

Andolyana ran her hands over the fabric for a moment, and admitted to herself that it wasn't the worst fabric feeling in the Republic. If she had to wear it for a night, it wouldn't kill her. The design was even tasteful: elbow length sleeves, the thin waist, the flared skirts that fell farther in the back than they did in the front. In any other colour, Andolyana would sigh wistfully, glance at the price tag, and move on.

It wasn't even _garishly_ red, she admitted. The fabric was a pleasing colour than made one think of roses and red carpets. Unfortunately for Andolyana, it also made her think of red skin under a bloodstained grey uniform, and the gleaming red of irises that stared at her in the mirror.

Reaching for the clasps on her robes, Andolyana muttered, “She owes me big for this.”

Still, Dollie kept her eyes closed for the most part of the process, and only opened them again as she brushed scattered strands of hair out of her face. She looked at her own eyes for a moment, then took a step back to look at the bigger picture.

She was still Andolyana: messy and uneven black hair, triangular tattoos in their usual places, tiny scar bisecting her eyebrow. However, in other ways, she… wasn't. Her posture seemed different, and even though her pasty green legs peeked out from under the dress, it fit well enough. She didn't feel the need to pull at it around the shoulders, or smooth down the skirts to make them neater. The colour made her eyes look… normal, like the eyes of someone kind, who didn't worry about the Dark Side or the Light.

The reverie was broken slightly with the sharp knocking of Parrian at the door. “You alright, Doll?”

Andolyana didn't reply, but instead opened the door wide and posed halfheartedly, hands on her hips. “What do you think, Parrian?”

To Andolyana's embarrassment, Parrian only stood there in the doorway, staring at her for a few moments, unblinking. A grin splashed across her face, lighting up her golden eyes and creasing the lines of her tattoos. “You're gorgeous, Doll. Th is perfect.”

She could faintly hear her own heartbeat pounding in her ears, and forced herself to look away from Parrian’s too-pretty face. _Stop it, Doll. You can't._ But still, she murmured, “You picked it out, P. Give yourself some credit.” _Pet names? Seriously?_

Parrian only rolled her eyes, and patted her shoulders. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Doll, but right now, we should probably leave before I run both of our credit accounts into the ground,” she told her, making a show of looking around for perhaps mall security who could sense that they might not be able to pay.

The act made Dollie laugh, and she took Parrian's hand as they walked to the register and out of the store. The agent's hand felt cooler against Andolyana's skin, but she could hear both of their pulses pounding through their contact. The off-kilter rhythm, Parrian’s heart beating slower than her own, was surprisingly comforting.

Out of the corner of her vision, Andolyana saw Parrian’s eyes widen at the contact, and when the corners of her mouth turned upward just so, Dollie thought that perhaps she had caught a glimpse of what lay under her many, many masks.

* * *

 

“Nope. Nope. Nonononono, this was a bad idea.”

Parrian rolled her eyes at the speeder window, if only to distract herself from how cute Andolyana was when she worried. “Honey,” she said, Republic accent firmly in place, “it's mandatory for you to go.”

“I meant bringing you with me-” and oh, Dollie probably hadn't meant that to come out as scathingly as it had. At least, Parrian hoped that she didn't.

And apparently she hadn't, because she continued to babble, “You might get _caught_ and you'll go to _prison_ and the SIS might _interrogate_ you and I won't ever see you again and-”

Andolyana was rather forcefully interrupted by the sudden press of delightfully cool lips against her own, and her eyes flew wide open as Parrian leaned away.

She tilted her head and her short, choppy hair tilted with her. With her hair out of their customary tails, she looked different, but somehow, it wasn't a good different. It was a facet of her mask, something that wasn't Parrian. Dollie didn't know when she had learned to discern what was and wasn't her, (maybe it was the Force, maybe it was- _don't you think that thought, Jedi Gyleth._ ) 

Parrian smiled, something sly with a hint of affection in her eyes. “Better?”

Despite her racing heart and flushed face, she heard herself answering, “Yes, better.”

“Good, because I think we have arrived.”


	5. Chapter 5

Despite the many briefings and surveillance reports Parrian had witnessed during her years in Imperial Intelligence, she hadn’t expected the Senate Tower to make her _nervous_. She had been in this area just the other day _shopping_ , so why was her throat beginning to clench up? Parrian had been less nervous during the trip out of Imperial space, and she’d been stowed in the cargo hold of a rickety freighter with only her own mind for company. Cipher Seven was almost famous at Headquarters for their temper, (capable of working with skilled agents only, fallibility would _not_ be tolerated, why was Headquarters keeping such a drama queen around again?) which certainly should have made them more frightening than the Senate Tower, yes?

Andolyana’s little spiel had actually awoken some fears of her own. The Senate Tower and the adjoining gardens were likely swarming with SIS agents, who were trained to spot Ciphers and Intelligence officers on the spot. Not to mention, Parrian suspected that Cipher Seven was still on Coruscant. Her holofeed was still empty, but she had yet to hear of anything like their plan from the various news sources that Andolyana’s apartment was capable of accessing. No news meant that either Seven had been pulled out, or that they had tried and failed so horribly that no one even noticed. Knowing Headquarters and Keeper especially, the first option was even more doubtful than the second, and Parrianknew that the other operative wasn't so bad that they would fail so completely.

She, on the other hand, had failed _miserably_. Here she was, the mission at a critical stage, her knife wound mostly healed up, and she wasn’t even attempting to look for her fellow operative: she was, instead, all dolled up (ha) and walking arm-in-arm with a pretty young Jedi through the Garden of Justice.

 _Such a selfish little operative,_ a voice whispered in her ear, something cold and harsh that Parrian was too familiar with. _One simple show of compassion from a hypocrite Jedi, and you’re ready to turn your back on all you know, to live a lie forever as a complacent girlfriend?_

_I should hope I would never stoop all the way to “complacent”._

_You don’t deny “selfish”, little one._

Parrian wasn’t about to deny it, because it really was true. An alien in the Empire was shown no mercy, no second chance: get it right the first time or leave it to the people who can afford to make mistakes. Parrian, as a result, hoarded every good thing she could: Keeper’s small mercies when he felt generous, the small apartment on Dromund Kaas for recuperating between missions, the one restaurant that made good Corellian food and didn’t turn her away. And here, now, her arms full of an occasionally affectionate Mirialan with the prettiest red eyes Parrian had ever seen, she found that she didn’t want to leave- at least, not yet.

_Ha, "not yet." You’ve been saying that ever since you could stretch your arms over your head without popping your stitches._

As they strolled- indeed, arm-in-arm, -through the Gardens just outside the Senate Tower, Parrian’s peripheral vision caught several shocked side-glances in their direction. Unconsciously, the muscles of her arm tensed, and Parrian was very conscious of the stiletto knife strapped to her thigh until Andolyana traced one of the sharp bursts of ink high on Parrian’s shoulder.

“You alright?” Dollie murmured.

Parrian forced her arms and back to relax into a relaxed but dignified posture, and smiled as genuinely as she could, under the circumstances. “I'm fine, dear. Why don't you introduce me to some of your coworkers? I know hardly anything about where you spend too many hours a day.” There: innocent enough for onlookers, but intriguing enough to convince Andolyana that she really was fine.

Andolyana’s eyebrows scrunched together for a moment, making a cute little wrinkle in between them, and for an instant, Parrian felt the strangest contradiction of sensations. A rush flowed through her, from where her arm touched Dollie’s to the tips of her toes, that sent a shiver down her spine and convinced her that she doesn’t want anything more than to stare at this adorable inquisitive face. A cold chill ran up through her head, and she wanted to squirm away from that burning red gaze and keep some of her secrets to herself.

In a not unkind way, Dollie’s shining red eyes are more adept at pulling Parrian’s secrets out than any Sith interrogations.

Their delightful walk was interrupted by the appearance of a young Human in formal robes that looked similar to Jedi fashions. His face brightened as he caught sight of Andolyana, but his mouth quirked slightly when his gaze slid over to Parrian. She pleaded quickly for any divine power to distract this young Human, but as per usual, no luckily timed lightning strikes saved her in the nick of time.

“Andolyana!” he called, turning and walking toward them.

Under Parrian’s arm, the Jedi in question stiffened. “Oh, _no,_ ” she murmured. Parrian frowned slightly and was just about to ask just what the problem was with this particular Human, but his obnoxious chatter interrupted her.

“I heard a rumour, but I didn’t think it’d be true,” the Human teased, and not in a way that Parrian thought was completely friendly. “Jhor from reception told me you were bringing your… roommate.” He placed stress on the final word, so much that Parrian was impressed that he didn’t hiss it or burst a blood vessel.

Andolyana’s face darkened, and as pretty as Parrian found such a sight, she found her patience for this Human running thin. She smiled, too sharply for any socialite, and gushed, “Yeah, Andolyana’s such a doll for bringing me along. I haven’t been feeling well recently, and she thought this was just the thing to make me feel better! Who are you, though? Doll doesn’t talk a lot about people from work, so I’m afraid I don’t know your name.”

The Human smiled as tightly as Parrian had, and pointedly didn’t extend his hand. “Selvan Jon. I’m a nurse on the same floor as Andolyana. I’m afraid I don’t know your name either. You know how vague rumours can be.”

“Parrian, and nothing else,” she insisted, gushing socialite exterior firmly in place. “My family and I don’t get on, so I’ve shed the surname.” Plausible excuse, that was even vaguely true.

“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that,” Jon replied, though his concern was as insincere as Parrian’s extrovertedness. “Family is so important, and you must be so crushed.”

Parrian shrugged. “It’s not that bad. They were never good at understanding me, anyway. But Andolyana has been such a good friend, lending me her couch during these unfortunate times.”

Andolyana smiled hesitantly, and placed her hand on Parrian’s arm. “You’re a flatterer, P. Come on, there’s a drinks table near the zalnias, and it looks like Doctor Ishikawa brought her berry punch. Pardon us, won’t you, Jon?” She had begun to lead Parrian as she spoke, and she turned her back on the Human by the end of the sentence. Parrian followed her lead with a bemused smile growing on her face, content to be lead.

“I’m not seeing any zalnias in this garden, my dear,” Parrian murmured quietly. “I’m not surprised, given that they’re native to Yavin IV, but won’t our unwanted friend notice that too?”

Dollie chuckled down in her chest. “Jon doesn’t know a thing about plants, he won’t notice. Not everyone was a gardener on Makeb at some point or another,” she added pointedly.

Parrian accepted the jab with a quiet laugh, and allowed herself to relax, if marginally. “Rather rude of a fellow Jedi to poke around in your personal business, wasn’t it?” asked Parrian casually, fishing for information now that she deemed it safe to.

In response, Dollie shot her a confused look. “Selvan Jon is no Jedi. He barely qualifies as a nurse, and he’s not Force sensitive at all. What made you think he was?”

“His robes. They’re in the Jedi style, aren’t they? Why would he be wearing them if he isn’t a Jedi?”

Dollie rolled her eyes, though Parrian assumed it was in response to Nurse Jon’s actions than Parrian’s lack of knowledge. “He probably commissioned them from somewhere,” she predicted, distaste evident in her tone. “He’s from a well-off family, so it isn’t surprising that he can through his money around and get Jedi-like robes for events like this. He’s always trying to buddy up with the Force-sensitive Healers like Master Alfor and I.”

Parrian grimaced, rather disgusted by the Human’s actions on Andolyana’s behalf. She imagined that it was similar to a well-off civilian would buying an Imperial dress uniform. They’d wear it to impress, but instead would undermine the authority it represented.

Pushing away that thought, Parrian latched onto one of Andolyana’s passing remarks. “Who’s Master Alfor?”

Dollie smiled while her eyes began to scan the scattered groups of Healers, doctors, nurses and politicians. “He’s the Head Healer in the hospital, and a Jedi. He’s a Mirialan, like me, and sometimes we talk about Mirial and the Force- Jedi small talk, really. I haven’t seen him yet, but…”

“I’m sure he’ll make the effort to talk to you if you bump into each other,” assured Parrian, an indulgent smile plastered on her face. The last thing she needed was a more experienced Jedi trying to pick apart whatever half-facade she was wearing at the moment. She was not only Dollie’s girlfriend, Dollie’s not-girlfriend, and a Republic socialite, but also an Imperial agent, although to Dollie’s knowledge only. The borders between her masks were beginning to blur, and four cover stories were hard to juggle, even for her. Parrian wasn’t sure for how much longer she could keep up with being a quadruple-agent.

Andolyana still lead her eagerly toward the refreshment table, and as it turned out, her lie was actually a half truth. There really was a Doctor Ishikawa, and her berry punch was real, and it made Parrian’s toes curl delightedly in her pumps. The minty aftertaste contrasted with the connotations of purple liquid, and Parrian’s smile was fully genuine as she looked at Dollie over the rim of her cup.

In the distance somewhere behind Dollie, a glint of light caught Parrian’s eye, but it was gone almost as soon as she saw it. Parrian angled her head this way and that, trying to see it again. She had almost decided that her eyes were fooling her among all this bedazzlement, but there, farther away than it had been, the same familiar flash.

Parrian pressed her cup into Dollie’s empty hand. “Excuse me, love, I think there might be something I need to take care of…”

Something encircled her arm, stopping her in her tracks, and Parrian looked in askance at her arm before remembering- _Ah, the Force. Right._

Behind her, Dollie set down both of their cups on the refreshment table, quirked an eyebrow at her agent ( _not her patient anymore, surely, the wound is nearly healed, stop kidding yourself Andolyana_ ), and linked her arm around Parrian’s. “You really think I’m going to let you go sneaking off into the distance to go get stabbed again? Think again, P.”

Parrian’s smile was gracious, but practiced. “Your concern is sweet, but the stabbing was a one off. I’m going to be much more careful this time."

“Armed with one knife while wearing a cocktail dress?” asked Dollie skeptically. “I don’t think so. Now, where were you about to do sneaking off to?”

Frowning heavily, Parrian scanned the crowd again. “Well, I’ll have to pick up his trail again, now that you’ve gone and _distracted_ me…”

She analysed each sparkle or glint that caught her eye, and discarded them as dead ends: a diamond necklace, a golden wristwatch, compact mirror. A sliver of blue light vanished behind one of the raised garden walls, and Fourteen squeezed Andolyana’s wrist before pursuing the target. Running would've made a spectacle, so she weaved through the crowd like a snake through tall grass, occasionally glancing back to check if Andolyana was keeping up.

Dollie was surprisingly agile for a city-dwelling Jedi, moving like water around people with her elbows tucked in and one hand against her hip. That detail struck Fourteen as significant, and she realised why: She didn’t know if or how Andolyana had brought her lightsaber with her. Depending on just _who_ was using a stealth generator around the Senate Tower, a lightsaber would be _very_ useful.

As the crowd dispersed and the corner approached, Fourteen slid her hand into the false-pocket of her dress. Rather than pocket seams where there was closed fabric, Foruteen’s fake pocket functioned more like a cleverly disguised hole in her dress which allowed her to draw her stiletto knife through the skirts of her dress without damaging the dress itself. She curled fingers around the thin hilt of the blade, and her nerves were settled by the rough woven leatheris against her skin.

Fourteen- and that was who she was, Cipher Fourteen, as there was no room for Parrian’s sentimentality in a situation like this, -crept around the side of the wall quickly, _quickly,_ because-

The blue flash appeared again, and the shadow that appeared for a split second was humanoid, and Fourteen felt a sliver of satisfaction that she was right: their target was wearing a stealth generator. And they had just turned that stealth-generator _off,_ which meant they were over-confident.  

Fourteen leaped, drawing the knife in a fluid motion to catch the target in the arm, but her arc of motion was interrupted all at once, and she felt the steel-like vice of fingers gripped around her wrist. Staring at the familiar grey fabric of gloves designed for the dexterity of field agents, Fourteen felt her eyes widen automatically and felt her pulse pounding against her fellow operative’s fingers. _She_ had been over-confident this time, bordering on delusional. Her fantasy crumbled around her as she forced herself to look away from the hand and into the face of her colleague.

“Fourteen.” growled Cipher Seven, “Good. I was going to attempt the mission without you, but now-”

Behind them, Dollie must’ve made a sound, because Cipher Seven straightened up to their full height and sneered. “Who’s the floozy you talked into being your cover, Fourteen? Should’ve figured you’d go for an alien if you had the chance, but I wasn’t expecting _this._ ”

Fourteen couldn’t see Andolyana’s face, but she could assume that the glorious Sith-like scowl had twisted her face. A curious sound hummed through the air, the sound that heralded sweet and merciful death in the Empire, and Fourteen smirked as she felt Seven gasp.

“You want to say that to my face, Imperial?” Andolyana snarled, even while in the back of her mind she was screaming bloody murder. There was a real Imperial operative standing in front of her- not that Parrian wasn’t real, but this one, a lanky human with cropped blond hair and a face that couldn’t be called anything but plain-looking, had harmful intent clear in his blue eyes, not to mention a blaster rifle on his back and a knife in the hand that wasn’t gripping Parrian’s wrist.

No, she couldn’t focus on personal connections now. Andolyana was a _Jedi,_ and she wasn’t about to let an Imperial operative carry out their mission on her watch.

_Then what is it you’ve been doing over the past month, Gyleth? Taking care of a patient?_

The Imperial operative smirked, and released Fourteen’s wrist. “A Jedi,” they murmured. “I’m impressed, Fourteen. No doubt you lured her into helping you with pleas of pity and some clever words: that does seem to be what you’re best at, after all. She’ll be hard to dispose of, I suppose, but we’ll have to worry about that after the mission is complete.”

Parrian, who was still standing behind the operative and was looking rather shell-shocked, muttered, “Of course, Cipher Seven. The knife wound you gave me helped things along considerably.”

The operative, Cipher Seven, frowned heavily. “What knife wound?”

Snarling, Parrian laid a hand on the location of her wound, and Andolyana’s heart lept into her throat. _She’d been stabbed by her own ally?_

“You know damn well what knife wound, you son of a Hutt,” Parrian snarled. “The one you gave me when you called me an incompetent pile of rotting bio-matter. Though you were much less eloquent at the time. Or do you not remember after the rather stupendous amount of liquor I remember you consuming that night?”

Seven tutted at Parrian. “Your memory must be terrible after staying in that Jedi’s apartment for the last few weeks. Or is it her who’s been controlling you?”

“No one has been manipulating either of us,” Dollie insisted, and she shifted her stance slightly, bringing her lightsaber up, it’s golden blade casting a light over Seven. “I healed her because I wanted to. You seriously stabbed your own ally? Why on earth would you do that?”

Seven shrugged, keeping up his facade of being unconcerned, but he shifted slightly away from Andolyana’s lightsaber. “She had outlived her usefulness. You were rising up in Intelligence, Fourteen, and I just couldn’t have that. Besides, you had already completed your part of the mission, and while the final stage would be challenging without you, I’m confident that I can do it alone.”

“What mission?” Andolyana demanded.

“The whole reason Intelligence took the chance on smuggling two operatives to Coruscant, Jedi,” Seven said with a smirk. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you more: it’d spoil the surprise, and I’m sure that the headlines would be impressive. Not to mention the standard “classified” excuse that Fourteen has already given you.”

Andolyana glanced at Parrian, who’s grip on her knife looked worryingly loose. “What is the mission?” She asked, and had to physically hold herself back from ending the sentence with _Parrian._ She wouldn’t be very happy if Andolyana exposed what was probably her dearest secret to a human who stabbed her because he was a specieist ladder-climbing son of a Hutt.

Parrian looked at Andolyana, and she was surprised to see her golden eyes, usually bright with humour or glee or some degree of passionate disagreement, were blank, as if the life had been sucked out of them. She took a shaky breath in, and spoke slowly. “The removal of the Galactic Republic Military Committee,” she revealed. “All of them except Secretary of Defense Ghemor are present at this party. It was my job to locate them, and to  ensure that they planned on attending. Seven and I would then split up and… remove each of them, one by one.”

Lost for words, Andolyana tightened her grip on her lightsaber. Parrian didn’t even look _apologetic,_ just… blank, and perhaps a little scared. The knife was visibly shaking now, and Parrian’s once formidable mental walls were dust, and Dollie could hear, through a whisper of the Force, _she hates me, oh, she’s right to hate me, I’m a monster._

Cipher Seven rolled his eyes. “Great, now we _have_ to dispose of her. Nice job, Fourteen.”

Andolyana narrowed her eyes at Seven. She didn’t know how high up in Intelligence he was, but he was an ass, even worse than  Selvan Jon was, considering that he found assassination “challenging” but not repugnant, like a average sentient being.

_And where does Parrian scale, hmm?_

Stars, what she wouldn’t give to have Master Alfor here to talk to. Centered and kind, Alfor was the epitome of what being a Jedi meant to Andolyana. Their talks had grown less and less frequent, ever since the Senate had decided to integrate the Senate Hospital and the military Medical Corps and Master Alfor had been added to the-

The Galactic Republic Military Committee.

If Seven hadn’t stabbed Parrian, she never would have ended up in Andolyana’s apartment. If Parrian had never been injured, their plan would have gone through as planned. Parrian or Cipher Seven  would have killed Master Alfor in cold blood, because they were ordered to, because it was their Imperial duty, because they were ruthless Intelligence Cipher operatives.

 _But Parrian isn’t,_ Dollie told herself firmly. She had shown again and again over those two weeks to be kind, and conscious of Dollie’s feelings. That had to count for something, didn’t it? She glanced at Parrian, who trembled under her gaze, and realised several life changing things all at once.

Firstly: Seven had said that Parrian was moving up in Intelligence. Parrian would have only paused one moment before going along with the assassinations.

Secondly: Given Parrian’s quiet breakdown currently happening, Dollie doubted pretty severely that she would assassinate someone in cold blood, if only because Parrian was convinced that Andolyana would hate her and never forgive her afterwards.

Thirdly: Dollie had changed Parrian. She hadn’t even been _trying,_ and yet this Imperial Cipher was trembling over the thought of never being forgiven.

Andolyana flicked the switch that deactivated her lightsaber, and clipped it onto her belt.

Seven arched an eyebrow. “A sentimental Jedi,” they sneered. “Cute.”

Dollie paid his words no mind, and instead focused her willpower very carefully. Head wounds were always difficult to control, she remembered. She raised up a hand to reign her focus, fingers outstretched like guiding points. Seven began to sway, and his grip on his knife began to slacken.

“What-” They winced, and started again, “What are you doing?”

Silence was his only reply, and Dollie’s eyebrows knitted in concentration. Her hand made one final pushing motion, and Seven crumpled to the ground.


	6. Chapter 6

Slack-jawed, Parrian watched Seven’s body crumble to the ground like a sand sculpture in a hurricane. Andolyana slowly lowered her arm, and wiped away the bead of sweat beginning to roll down her forehead.

What in the nine Corellian Hells had just happened?

Cipher Fourteen, a trained Imperial operative, had frozen in the face of the enemy, while Jedi Andolyana Gyleth and knocked them out with the Force? What world was she on, and what kind of daydream was she living in?

Andolyana rolled her shoulders back, and winced slightly. She inhaled deeply, then exhaled shortly and straightened her shoulders, as if she were the trained and professional agent. “Alright, we can’t just leave a Cipher lying around, so… we’ll have to move them someplace that they won’t be found.” She glanced toward Parrian, then furrowed her brows. “You okay?”

Parrian cautiously took an experimental deep breath in, and steadily breathed back out. “I should-” Her voice came out raspy, and  she cleared her throat. “I should be fine.”

“Good. Help me carry them.”

She sent Andolyana a confused look. “Where? Through the crowd and cause a panic?”

Andolyana rolled her eyes. “Just follow my lead,” she insisted, and bent down to grip Cipher Seven’s ankles tightly. “Take his shoulders,” she instructed, and Parrian complied, though she looked furtively around her as she did so.

By looking over her shoulders, Andolyana guided them both the best she could, and all of a sudden Parrian could understand where she was going. A small set of nondescript doors stood unobtrusively far to the side, almost completely blending in with their background. While Parria didn’t know their purpose, she didn’t exactly care at the moment: she could only follow Andolyana’s lead and hope that the Jedi knew what she was doing.

As Dollie’s back bumped into the door, a smile of relief flicked over her features, before her features returned to the shape of something more along the lines of somber focus. _Yes, no celebrating just yet. We have more work to do._ Andolyana set Seven’s feet down and keyed in a passcode to the doors, which slid open with only the barest of pneumatic hisses. She lifted his feet again and slowly began to walk backward down the sparsely lit hallway.

“What is this place?” Parrian finally asked once they had walked about halfway down the corridor.

Andolyana shrugged as much as she could while holding on to Cipher Seven. “The entrance to the hospital morgue,” she explained. “The original blueprints didn’t allow for an entrance in the back, so they just disguised it as much as possible. Nobody wants to worry about deaths when there’s interviews to give and political rivals to slander, so everyone mostly pretends that this tunnel doesn’t exist.”

Parrian blinked several times and her eyebrows arched in surprise. “I never expected to hear a _Jedi_ criticize the Galactic Senate,” she said, and the flat tone of _sincere_ surprise made Parrian start slightly. _Well, I can’t expect myself to be enigmatic all the time, can I?_ Parrian reasoned with herself.

Andolyana frowned heavily. “I wasn’t criticising the Senate,” she insisted. “I was… criticising the Senators. So many of them care more about power and riches and attention than they do for their constituents. There are the occasional good ones, of course, but…” Dollie sighed, and let her sentence trail off.

The opening was clear, and Parrian arched her eyebrows in a way that she knew was insinuating. “You think your government would run much smoother if there were less personal agendas to contend with?”

Dollie stopped in her tracks and let go of Cipher Seven’s leg to point emphatically at Parrian. “I know what you’re doing, and it won’t work,” she insisted. “I’m not defecting to the Empire, Parrian, not even-” Dollie snapped her mouth shut, cutting herself off. A dark green flush stained her cheeks, and her bright eyes seemed to glow in the dimly lit hallway.

Parrian wanted to laugh delightedly. Dollie’s part-outraged and part-amused expression was a familiar comfort to her now, and Parrian could still manipulate a Jedi in conversation. She wasn’t a useless, broken agent after all. While grinning wide and brightly, she pressed her advantage, “Not even for what, Doll?”

Andolyana looked as if she was going to be confrontational, but then her shoulders and her smile sank slightly. “Not even for you, Parrian.” she answered in a low murmur that Parrian almost didn’t hear.

Not having expected a reply, Parrian flushed and was for once thankful for the wine-red skin that disguised her reaction. She broke eye contact with Andolyana, and together they shuffled down the corridor in silence. After several more minutes had passed, Dollie let out a surprised “oof!” and Parrian’s head shot back up at the unexpected sound.

Without looking behind her, Andolyana had bumped into the entrance to the hospital proper. While she keyed in her access code to the doors, Dollie held Cipher Seven aloft with the use of the Force. The doors slid open with a faint pneumatic hiss, and after the dull yellow light of the tunnel, the morgue’s bright white light made both Andolyana and Parrian winced a blink, but Dollie shook off her reaction and resumed carrying Seven by their ankles.

The morgue was actually smaller than she had initially imagined. Two autopsy tables stood bolted to the floor, and their dull desh sheen thankfully not blinding. A small sink and a desk stood against one wall beside a large wall-mounted computer and, seemingly absurd in context, a coat stand. Facing the doorway was a short wall of what Parrian recognised as body-freezers: desh-plated refrigeration units to prevent decay after an autopsy. The white floor tiles and the bright white lights made Dollie and Parrian stand out as the two spots of color in the room, (Seven didn’t really count, in Parrian’s opinion,) and the sterile feeling of the room was a cold comfort.

“Let’s put him on the table,” Andolyana instructed.

The both of them heaved Cipher Seven’s body up onto the desh autopsy table, and Dollie quickly retrieved and filled a syringe before rolling up Seven’s sleeve and injecting it.

Parrian narrowed her eyes. “What did you just give him?”

“Detomidine,” answered Andolyana. “It’s-”

“A tranquilizer, I know.” She smirked a little. “I was a nurse, before Imperial Intelligence swept me up.”

Dollie leaned against the table casually, and her shoulders relaxed. “Really?” she asked, although her tone made it clear that she didn’t believe Parrian quite yet.

She nodded. “Really. Well, more of a battle medic, really. I was stationed on Balmorra, working in Sobrik. One day, this Human soldier is brought into the hospital, and I’m assigned to him. His uniform wasn’t dirty, and there were no marks on the clothing to indicate that he’d been injured while wearing it.”

Dollie interjected, “What were his injuries?”

It took Parrian a moment, but she recalled, “Compound fracture in his forearm, several contusions and head lacerations, and a piece of shrapnel in his abdomen.”

“How did he put on clothes over all those injuries?” wondered Dollie.

Parrian smirked, and sat on the second autopsy table so that her legs kicked above the floor like she was a small child. “Do you want me to tell this story or not, Doll?”

Andolyana rolled her eyes at the nickname, but sat next to her. “Do tell, Parrian.”

“I asked him how he obtained his injuries, and he says, “Classified.” I thought to myself, _alright, not surprising, this is a war zone after all_ , and so then I ask him what his name is, and he says “Classified.” Finally, I ask him was his rank is, and he says, “Classified.” So then I told him, “So help me, I will pour lemon juice on your wounds if you don’t tell me who you are or how you got your injuries.”

Parrian smirked briefly at the memory, but then quickly sobered. “And so he told me that he was a SIS agent who had been given a jacket so that he’d receive medical attention.”

Andolyana’s face was blank. “What did you do?”

“I demanded to know who had given him the jacket, who his contacts were, that sort of thing,” she replied tonelessly. “Really, I was just biding for time. I didn’t want to do anything I didn’t have to. Unfortunately for the both of us, he didn't give up his contacts and I had to escalate past threats.” Her golden eyes focused on a single point of the floor while her voice sank into a monotone.

“I injected him with- I didn’t even know what it was, now that I think about it, but I knew it was toxic to humans. I just knew that I had to do  _ something _ , because what kind of Imperial was I if I let a SIS agent live? My superior probably would’ve had me court martialed for poisoning a captain in uniform, but Imperial Intelligence came in and swept me up.” Parrian threw up her hands in a helpless gesture and shrugged. “They had tabs on him, and they liked the initiative I showed, apparently.”

Parrian pulled her legs up onto the examination table and sat with her knees drawn up to her chest. She folded her arms, and laid her head on them like a makeshift pillow. Once her eyes closed and her muscles relaxed, the fatigue finally caught up with her, and she allowed her attention to drift aimlessly, dozing slightly between true slumber and remaining awake.

Andolyana curled her fingers on the edge of the chromium table, tight enough for her knuckles to bloom a pale green color. The firm sensation grounded her through the moral battle she was undergoing. Parrian didn’t seem to feel any remorse for the murder of the SIS agent, but she hadn’t been able to bring herself to attack Seven when she’d had the chance in the garden. For the brief moment when Parrian had broadcasted her thoughts (on accident, Dollie assumed,) her primary concern had been whether or not Dollie would forgive her for the cruelty that she had been trained to perpetrate in cold blood.

Dollie had said that she wouldn’t defect for Parrian, but she wondered if maybe Parrian would defect for her.


End file.
